


Just a Game

by TheWalnutGallery



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, Post-Game(s), SaiOuMota - Freeform, Saioumota Week, Suicide Attempt, vr au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 23:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalnutGallery/pseuds/TheWalnutGallery
Summary: It was hard for everyone to adjust to their real lives after the game, and not everybody was willing to give up what they had.Saioumota Week Day 2 - Make Believe (Also works for Comfort!)VR AU - Post game





	Just a Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Saioumota Week Day 2 - Make Believe (saioumotaweek.tumblr.com) - VR AU - Post game. I got a little carried away writing this one, it is not related to my day 1 prompt (pregame).

The first few weeks had been hard for all them. For Saihara it had been hard to go from being surrounded by people to being alone again. For the first few days all he would do was crawl out of bed to his sofa and try to find something on TV that wasn’t a rerun of Danganronpa or a news show reading the same stories of how Danganronpa had ended at season 53 and things were finally over for Team Danganronpa, creators of the cult hit show and about how it was only kept on air due to their eager voluntary participants. Danganronpa was the hot topic, so the channels were filled with it, and even when the TV was off, his mind never shifted from it. He would just lie there and cry until he fell back to sleep, woke, ate and cried some more. 

Things started picking up again when Harukawa and Yumeno invited him to start hanging out. It turned out they’d be struggling as much as him, unsurprisingly. Harukawa felt guilty because although her real life had been so much better than the life she’d remembered in the game – loving parents who’d been worried sick seeing their child involved in the game, a big house and wanting for nothing – she could still think of nothing but the life she’d believed she’d had. She had started to get better already, accepting her family back into her life and remembering what it was like to be loved. She’d only joined Danganronpa because her best friend had insisted they should sign up together, and she didn’t truly believe they would actually be picked. With her new outlook on life she couldn’t understand how she could have applied with such a flimsy reason, how she could have been so careless with the charmed life she had been given. 

Yumeno agreed that she’d joined Danganronpa for the wrong reasons too, she hadn’t been interested in the killing game, but she’d been interested in the ultimate talents. She’d never been anything special, everything in her life had been so ordinary so she wanted to excel at something, and she wanted to have an experience unlike any other. She guessed her wish had been granted, but it definitely wasn’t worth it. She would take that ordinary life back in an instant if it meant she wouldn’t have had to go through that awful game. She couldn’t turn back time though and had to live with her decisions even though it had cost her the trust of her family and friends. She had been learning how to perform magic tricks since the game, and she had to proudly admit that she was getting pretty good at them – maybe thanks to her in-game talent. 

They all definitely had kept remnants of their talents. Saihara was still more alert than most, taking in small details and constantly on edge though that wasn’t always a good thing. Harukawa was keeping herself physically fit, her physical prowess had been enhanced in the program to fit her ultimate assassin title but she didn’t feel right waking up weak. She had definitely put on a lot more muscle since they had seen her first, after they had woken from the simulation. 

They had a meeting with Team Danganronpa two weeks after the game. Those who had died were still attached to the machines, and things were explained to the three. The first thing was that they would only pay the survivors. As a group they decided that the money was not the most important thing to them, they would rather share it equally among all 15 of them. They didn’t include Shirogane since she would already be paid as a staff member of Team Danganronpa. 

The next thing was that usually they would wake the dead 3 months after the game, once they were fully stabilized, they ordinarily would not return their memories from before the game and instead would give them temporary housing and two options. 

Option one would be to change their identity and go into a witness protection style setup. Their pre-game memories would only be a burden to them if they picked this option, thus they were never returned. 

Option two would be to commit suicide, and their families would be compensated generously. Of course, option two was kept secret from any officials outside of their staffing. It would have been a big problem for Danganronpa’s success if those who were ‘dead’ were seen walking around, so it was easiest for them if they just chose to die. Those who had died in the game usually had an extremely difficult time adjusting to being alive again, even if they were killed suddenly, and more often than not would kill themselves before the offer was even given. 

In this case those who had died would be given neither option, the games were over so they no longer needed to keep the deceased hidden from sight. They would all be artificially woken early, their memories would be kept from the game and recovered from before the game, and they could return to their prior lives. 

The three survivors hadn’t dealt with memories of their deaths, and so they had no idea how the others would wake or how they would deal with it. 

It was horrific. 

 

They had all been brought out of the virtual reality at the same time and their cries and wails had echoed throughout the rooms and halls of the Team Danganronpa infirmary. Once it had stopped, the three went around to each person to explain to them what had happened in the game and their own personal experiences of what happened after the game. They didn’t visit Shirogane, they agreed that she was probably fine. 

Some of them had been accepting of what was happening. Yonaga had remained her cheerful self, her grin and rosy cheeks being a warm reminder that not everything in the world was bad. She claimed to have not been aware of her death, she had been knocked unconscious and then nothing. She was glad to be alive again. She claimed Atua would still be with her as she returned to her normal life. 

Shinguji had also been understanding of the situation. He had honestly admitted to them that he was just glad that he wasn't really an incestuous serial killer but was quite afraid of the world that would see him as such. He was unsure how he could face his real sister after that performance. 

Some had woken up unable to stop crying either for good or for bad, others were despondent and would need some time before being able to even react. The three helped each person get in contact with their family or arrange transport to get back home. 

“I’ll be glad to have a family again, even if I was willing to throw them away,” Hoshi’s deep voice had a hint of gratefulness about it, an unfamiliar smile on his face as he waited for his taxi. 

“How could Gonta have been such bad person?” the huge boy had wailed desperately, “How could Gonta have done such bad thing, not just kill Iruma in game, but hurt so many people before game?” They never saw the end of his tears as his parents came to collect the once gentle giant. 

It had been hard to see those closest to them as well, either from the game or before. Yumeno had hoped Chabashira would have missed her as much as she had, but the former martial artist had not been the same. She barely even looked at Yumeno, and only gave them a soft ‘goodbye’. Harukawa had been uncharacteristically eager to see Akamatsu awake again, Akamatsu having been her best friend before the game. Saihara had also been excited to see the musician again, longing to see the person he had held so dear throughout those traumatic times. But the Akamatsu who woke was not the one he remembered. Her once vibrant features were dull and downcast as she cursed a world that would bring the dead back to life with nothing but bitterness, wishing them all dead once more. 

It had all been a stark reminder that things were not the same, and that they were not the same. They had all been given back their mobile phones that had been held by Team Danganronpa during the game and added to each of their phones the numbers of the others. They could all agree that they would need each other's support. 

 

“Chabashira-san hates me now, I know it,” Yumeno had texted Saihara and Harukawa, a crying emoji beside the statement. 

“Give her some time, I’m sure she’ll come around,” Saihara tried to encourage her as much as he could by text. 

“I saw Momota again,” Harukawa responded, having told them before that she was going to see him more, to work out how they felt about each other now that the game had ended. “We’re both different now, my feelings for him were engineered by Team Danganronpa for views, neither of us feel comfortable to be anything more than friends.” 

“Are you happy with that?” Yumeno had replied skeptically. 

“Yes.” 

Saihara had been to see Momota a few times as well, they had bonded well even after the game. Momota hadn’t changed much from the game, still enthusiastic and positive as always, glad to be healthy again and trying to come up with a new dream to pursue. He had looked into trying to become an actual astronaut however his grades didn’t allow for that, so he had been trying to come up with a new path to follow – a new chapter for Kaito Momota! 

 

“I’ve messaged Ouma a few times,” Momota had told Saihara when they had met in a café for coffee one afternoon. “Y’know, we had a whole,” his magenta eyes searched around the inside of his drink for the right word, “thing, in the game I mean.” Saihara nodded, interested in how Ouma had replied. In the game they had all had a questionable at best relationship with him, and after he had come out of the VR he had just been quiet. No jokes, no apologies, just nothing. It had been disturbing to see the lively and loud boy curled up with his knees to his chest not saying anything, or even replying to their questions. In the end they’d had to leave him to get a taxi himself. 

“Did he reply?” 

“Yeah, he said he didn’t feel like texting, but agreed to meet up.” 

“You met him then?” 

“Not yet,” he stirred his coffee, hesitantly meeting Saihara’s murky green-grey eyes, “It’s later. Today I mean. Here.” He punctuated his speech with nervous glances away and back to Saihara, fist clenching and unclenching against his thigh. 

“Here? When?” Saihara straightened his posture in surprise, hand reaching momentarily for a hat which was not there. A hat that he’d seen when he woke, a hat he’d rejected. 

“Fifteen minutes,” Momota’s voice sounded like a guilty child’s, fully aware that he’d tricked Saihara into joining this meeting but a small playful smile against his features. “I just wanted you to be here too, I’d feel way too uncomfortable meeting him alone. After what happened.” Saihara gave a hum in understanding, sipping at the caffeine that he would now definitely need. 

 

Ouma had shown up only five minutes late, but those were an annoying five minutes with a very twitchy Momota. He’d waltzed in, hands tucked behind his head in an all too familiar stance, in a loose t-shirt and white jeans, accompanied by his usual checkered scarf. Most of them had opted to abandon clothing that reminded them of their ‘costumes’, though Saihara still felt comfortable in white button up shirts and black trousers. Momota wore more casual clothes like t-shirts and jeans and shoes with backs unlike his in-game slippers. He wore hoodies instead of stiff heavy jackets. But Ouma appeared to want to keep parts of his prior outfit. 

“You guys got drinks already!” he’d complained instantly as he approached their table, not looking away from the two, ignoring the looks and whispers from the other customers that Saihara and Momota had also been blocking out. 

“Yeah, Momota-kun didn’t tell me you were coming too until after we got them.” 

“I was an afterthought!” he bawled, small hands balled into fists and fat fake tears streaming down his face. 

“It’s not like that!” Momota yelled in response, waving his hands defensively above the table. 

“Then buy me a drink,” the tears were gone in an instant, huge expectant eyes locked on Momota’s disgruntled face. 

“Why should I?” 

“You did kill me one time.” Silence fell on the trio at those words. They had all been dodging around the awful events of the game, but of course Ouma held no such tact and would out and say something like that without a second thought. Momota blinked at the comment, taken aback, before giving an uncomfortable huff and heading back to queue wordlessly. Ouma went with him to point out which overly sugary and syrup filled beverage he desired. 

“So Ouma-kun,” Saihara started as Momota sat, Ouma snatching a chair from the empty table beside them to join, “how have you been?” He stopped himself from adding the ‘you didn’t speak at all last time I saw you’ part. 

“Same old, same old,” he waved his hand dismissively, before snapping his eyes to meet Saihara’s with a grin. 

“So, what have you been up to?” Saihara tried again, unsure of how to react. 

“I’ve been spending all my time with DICE of course!” his grin grew, teeth gritted hard behind the smile they’d seen many times before, eyes closed with an expression of forced relaxation. 

“DICE?” Saihara echoed, a strange feeling growing within his chest. Uncertainty? Dread? He couldn’t quite place it, but something was up. 

“My super-secret criminal organization! Did you forget already? You’re supposed to be a detective Saihara-chan, you can’t forget about things like that!” he whispered excitedly, leaning in closer to Saihara with a mischievous expression. 

Saihara could only stare back. ‘I’m not a detective’, he wanted to say, ‘you’re not a leader, DICE doesn’t exist,’ his mind raced, was DICE real? They could have been real, and used in the game, but that wouldn’t make sense with the motive videos and Team Danganronpa’s intention to keep things from inside the games consistent with the outside world. They wouldn’t show DICE being hurt and thrown behind bars if the real group were running around in the real world. They also wouldn’t have kidnapped DICE, none of their families were involved with Team Danganronpa, it would have made the most sense for them to have manufactured DICE like they had with all their backstories. It had all been lies. 

“Have you spoken to any of the others?” Momota’s question interrupted the awkward tension that had built between Saihara and Ouma. 

“I spoke to Iruma-chan and Gonta, that’s what you want to know right,” his voice turned monotone as he turned to Momota blankly. 

“Oh, yeah?” Momota was genuinely surprised, he figured that the three would want to let that lie and not contact each other after the torment of that situation. 

“I apologized to Gonta,” the confession was meek, he fiddled with his hands as he spoke, “he forgave me though, he said it probably didn’t matter since Iruma-chan wasn’t actually dead, but he was pretty distressed about other stuff,” the end of his sentence became hesitant, like he didn’t want to say the words. 

Saihara remembered vividly the way Gonta had sobbed uncontrollably, claiming to be a terrible person. He couldn’t believe Gonta was capable of being bad, but that was just from the Gonta he knew in the simulation, the Gonta that owned that hulking body may have been someone very different. The clashing and grinding of their memories of their selves from inside and outside the game was certainly a difficult thing to overcome, and not something that other people could begin to understand. 

“What about Iruma-san?” Saihara piped up again, Iruma had been shaky upon waking, wanting to be left alone one minute and an audience the next. He had noticed the way her hands would shoot to her neck once she got lost in her own thoughts, then would slowly drop when she noticed anyone near. 

“She’s depressed that she can’t make wacky junk to get herself off anymore,” he huffed casually. 

“Sounds about right,” Momota agreed, downing the last of his own, now cold, drink. 

“How about your family?” Saihara returned the topic to Ouma, hoping to get some semblance of a real answer out of him. 

“I already told you, an evil supreme leader like me doesn’t need a family!” he whined childishly. Saihara just sighed, ‘no realistic answers here, not like it’s a surprise with Ouma’. 

Their meeting didn’t last much longer, questions meeting strange answers that the two could not continue from, or conversations dissipating into topics they wished to avoid. They waved each other off and all returned into different directions to their own homes. 

 

“Ouma was weird, right?” Momota had texted little over an hour after their meeting had ended. 

“Yeah, the supreme leader stuff and DICE was definitely suspect.” 

“I’m going to go to his house.” 

“Why?” Saihara had been confused by Momota’s plan, how would he get the address? Why would it help? 

“He’s probably having a hard time, maybe I can talk to his folks and see how he’s doing at home? I’m great with parents!” 

“How are you going to get his address? He’s not going to tell you.” 

“DR guys will give me it if I ask,” Saihara briefly remembered one of the Team Danganronpa staff telling them that if they were concerned about the safety of one of the participants that they could provide addresses to them. It felt like a serious breach of privacy, but Team Danganronpa really didn’t care about any of them since they’d ended their series. He didn’t reply, Momota was going to go through with his plan with or without Saihara’s blessing. He just hoped that things would go okay for them. 

 

Momota had been surprised at the rundown apartment complex he’d walked through to find the address he’d scribbled down. He could hear bickering and loud thumping music from within the various homes, walls thin and crumbling around him. The air in the narrow halls thick with the smell of damp and smoke. Did Ouma really live in a place like this? His fist pounded against the door he was looking for, a door identical to all the others. It rocked loudly on its hinges as his hand connected with it each time. It eventually swung open, revealing a grumpy Ouma, who quickly clicked that it was Momota at his door and pulled it so that it was almost closed, only showing his thin body through the gap. 

“What are you doing here Momota-chan?” he hissed, face peeking out of the space he’d left open. 

“I came to visit,” he responded casually, as if showing up at someone’s house uninvited was normal – someone who’s address had never been given to him no less. 

“You came to visit,” Ouma echoed back to him, hoping for it to sound as dumb to Momota’s ears as it was to his own, “why?” 

“We’re friends!” he’d expected the door to open further, an invitation to enter, but the door did not move and Ouma just continued to stare incredulously at him. “I’m worried about you!” 

“I’m totally fine, you have literally no reason to worry about me,” he scoffed, moving to shut the door but stopping as Momota shoved his foot between the frame and the door. 

“Hey wait,” he called out, panicked, “look, I know things are hard since the game and all, but things aren’t the same as they were, and we’re not the same as we were. It’s hard but it’s easier if we all help each other, that’s what I think!” he finished his serious talk with an encouraging grin, the kind of grin he used to give his sidekicks all the time back in the game. It always helped them, and this time it would help him. 

“You’re saying we’re different people now? Than we were in the simulation?” bright eyes stayed trained on Momota, unmoving, it was strangely nerve-wracking. 

“Well yeah,” he hesitantly replied, grin faltering at the clarification. 

“Then why are you trying to help me? Why do you care?” Ouma’s volume increased, knuckles whitening around the door handle in his grasp, “We’re different people now than we were in the simulation, so we’re strangers now! Leave me alone!” he cried out, unable to shut the door around Momota’s foot. Momota’s jaw clenched tight, forming a hard line along his face as he gripped the edge of the door firmly and threw it open, forcing his way into the small apartment building. 

“We all still went through the same shit Ouma, we all need to help each other!” He ended up yelling, though it wasn’t his intention to shove his way into Ouma’s home and shout at him so aggressively. He came to his senses quickly as he took in his surroundings. The home really was tiny, but more importantly it was empty. One bedroom, paint peeling from the walls, dust coating every surface, furniture worn and tattered and so empty. He took in Ouma’s form in front of him, unhealthily pale, body thin and bones protruding against his clothing, dark circles under his eyes like bruises, unkept hair sticking out at all angles and shaking. He was shaking. His eyes huge and clear, staring up at Momota, entire body trembling at the sight of him. He’d seriously messed up. 

“Get out,” the small boy stuttered through unsteady lips. Momota did not move, just stared at the tiny person in front of him. 

The tiny person that had caused them all so much pain and confusion, the tiny boy that had everything worked out, the tiny boy that could not bring himself to trust or believe in another person until the point of his death. Momota would never forget the way Ouma had looked at him, entire body coated in a sheen of sweat, panting and bubbles building in the corners of his mouth. He’d looked at him with the knowledge that he was leaving Momota to follow his plan, that he was entrusting Momota with his life’s work, his dying wish. He’d looked at him like he trusted him. How painful it had been when they’d finally looked away from each other, bodies moving apart as Ouma climbed atop his jacket on the press, and he’d gone to the control panel, hand hovering over the button that would end him. He’d heard the unsteady, heavy breaths, though his own hadn’t been much better. The video camera had only recorded video, no sound, but Momota had been there. The video made it look like the press had come down quickly, ending Ouma in a moment but the reality had been so much worse. The press exerted a constant pressure, he’d watched Ouma’s desperately scrambling feet as bones were slowly crushed under the hefty metal. The screaming. 

“Get out!” Ouma finally yelled, knocking Momota out of his thoughts. He couldn’t look at Ouma any longer, he blinked rapidly, swallowing against his tight throat and hurried out, vaguely hearing the slamming of the door behind him causing the building the shake around him. 

 

“I went to see Ouma,” he texted Saihara on his way back home once he’d calmed down. 

“How did it go?” 

“Bad.” Really bad. 

“What happened?” 

“I tried to say that things had changed since the game and it was okay, but I ended up kind of pushing my way into his house and getting thrown out.” It was probably best to leave out the whole vivid flashback to when I killed him thing. 

“That probably wasn’t the best idea,” Saihara internally winced at how the day must have gone for Momota. 

“He lives a dump. Alone. We’ve got to do something.” Saihara chewed his lip, he’d been glad to have a home waiting for him after the simulation, though he’d wished his parents didn’t work abroad, it turned out that part of his fictional backstory was actually correct. Though they weren’t an actor and a screen writer, nothing quite that exciting. Just worked abroad but sent him enough money to live comfortably in their family home. 

“We should probably leave him alone for a while, he’d probably reject anything to do with you right now Momota-kun.” 

“He’s in denial. Everything he says is make believe. He has nothing, Saihara. I’m seriously worried.” 

“Alright, I’ll invite him round.” 

 

It took a lot of convincing, days of sporadic texting, to convince Ouma to come to his house. He just hoped that he wouldn’t freak out when Momota turned up a couple of hours later. He’d managed to get Ouma to agree to a sleepover, there had been plenty of jokes ‘ooh, like schoolgirls! Can you braid my hair, Saihara-chan?’ but they needed to be able to speak without an easy way to get out. He’d agreed to stay until the next day so hopefully he really would. 

When Ouma had arrived to his home, he’d demanded a tour and walked around all sparkly eyed like he was looking at a mansion. It was definitely insincere. He left Ouma in the living room with the TV while he prepared drinks and snacks for them, hoping Ouma could find something decent for them to watch. But, of course, that would not be the case with Ouma. 

“Apologize...apologize...apologize” Shinguji’s haunting voice sounded out through the speakers. 

“Seriously?” he tried to keep a playful edge to his voice, but he couldn’t deny the way his body tensed and gut twisted at hearing their arguing and his own voice resounding through his living room. He placed the tray on the table stiffly, taking a seat. 

“Don’t you think it’s cool to see yourself on TV?” 

“No,” he couldn’t bring himself to humor Ouma, seeing those episodes again just made him feel too awful. 

“Fine,” Ouma groaned, reaching for the remote and flicking through the channels impatiently until he found some old murder mystery show. It wasn’t much better, but at least it wasn’t them. 

“Have you seen DICE anymore recently?” 

“Of course!” he beamed back, “they haven’t left me alone since I got back!” 

“I see,” their conversation drifted into them silently watching the TV show, rustling around as they picked at the snacks laid out on the table in front of them. Saihara noticed that Ouma had taken a grape soda, the brand from the simulation that he’d seen Ouma with before hadn’t actually existed, but he’d bought a generically branded grape soda in preparation for him in case he still liked it. He was glad he had. 

They ended up watching a few episodes of the show, turned out the channel was playing nothing but back to back episodes of it and they’d both found themselves getting pretty into it. A rough thumping at the door broke them from their chilled-out trance, Saihara jumping to his feet before Ouma could ask questions. 

“Hey Ouma,” Momota casually greeted with a small wave as he walked into the room, plonking himself into an empty seat heavily. 

“Ah, Momota-chan,” his attention didn’t shift from the TV. Momota didn’t let the lack of attention phase him, instead focusing himself on the show along with them. 

They quickly caught Momota up on what they’d already found out about the characters, and tried to solve the twist of each episode while crunching on snacks. They weren’t talking about anything serious, but at least they weren’t arguing, and they were all still staying. 

“That was obvious! Soooo boring,” Ouma complained, head resting on the palm of his hand. 

“I think we’ve been watching these so long we’re basically on the same wavelength as the writers,” Saihara stretched, realizing he hadn’t moved for a while. 

“Man, it’s late already,” Momota yawned, brushing a hand through his meticulously gelled hair. 

“Are you staying for our slumber party too Momota-chan? There’s going to be ghost stories and pillow fights!” Momota barely stifled a laugh and Saihara just gave him a look. 

“Where are we all going to sleep?” Momota stood, clicking his back. 

“Uh,” Saihara drew out a thinking noise, it’d be bad if they were all in different rooms, and he didn’t have enough spare bedding for them all to sleep in the living room either. 

“Saihara-chan’s bed was super huge, I bet we could all fit in that easy!” 

“In the same bed?” Momota shot back, surprised by the suggestion. 

“Or maybe not, Momota-chan's too fat,” he closed his eyes and waited knowingly for the response. 

“What’d you say?! Saihara, where’s the bed?” he yelled, suddenly enraged and stomping around the house followed closely by a snickering Ouma. Saihara just shook his head; the boy knew what he’d done. 

 

It was really a surprise to all of them that they’d all ended up in the same bed like this. Saihara had thought for a long time that Ouma would just bolt as soon as Momota turned up, but surprisingly he’d seemed completely fine with it. They had managed to all fit in Saihara’s large bed without much of an issue, Saihara was a little closer to the wall than he’d like while on the other side Momota looked like he had plenty of space, sprawled out haphazardly, limbs splayed in a puzzling way. Ouma had been placed in the middle of them, him being the smallest it seemed like the best place for him. He’d fallen asleep quickly enough so he couldn’t have been too uncomfortable there, though Momota had been the first one asleep, his rhythmic snoring lulling the other two boys to join him. 

It hadn’t been a surprise to Ouma that seeing Momota’s face immediately before falling sleep had been a bad thing. A thing that drew all the awful things up that had so desperately been pushed down. His sleep had been filled with pain, fear, blood, weakness, tears and failure. Iruma’s avatar falling motionless, her actual body horrifying and tortured, Gonta’s tears and betrayed trust, the look on everyone’s faces as they watched his execution, the look they’d all given him as he revealed himself as the villain, Momota’s determination to escape, Harukawa's pure hatred of him, her desire to see him dead, being saved, panic, pain, blood, tears, trust, so much pain. 

Amethyst eyes opened wide, entire body jerking with a gasp, too heavy to move consciously. He just stared upwards, ‘it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen’. He willed the memories away, no not memories, he willed the thoughts away, eyes trained on the ceiling above them, body motionless save for his ragged breathing. 

Despite the warmth on either side of him he still felt alone, cold, he could almost feel the hard metal beneath him. Saihara’s ceilings were a lot lower than his own he noted, not like it mattered, it was just a ceiling, just a ceiling. His brain chanted at him, wanting him to believe the words. His breath caught in his throat as he began to see it, the ceiling lowering slowly, steadily shifting downwards towards his gaze, getting closer and closer. He bit down hard on his lip, the skin quickly beginning to swell under his teeth but doing nothing to stop the building from collapsing down on him. It was imposing, the thick slab of metal pushing down on his toes first, pinning his feet into position unable to flatten them sideways, bones clicking and crunching beneath the force, moving closer, the pressure building against his entire body, pushing him flat against the base he laid on and still moving down and down. 

 

“Hey Ouma,” Saihara gave him a firm shake, he’d been calling out to him for a while but the boy seemed catatonic, doing nothing but stare upwards. “Ouma!” he called out louder, roughly shaking him. Momota shifted, the shaking having woken him as well, large calloused hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he worked out what was happening next to him. Momota joined soon after, placing a hand against Ouma’s shoulder and calling out. 

“Hey, what’s going on Ouma?” Momota’s voice was the thing to startle him from his daze. 

He flung his body upwards with a shrill yell, covering his face with his hands, screaming words like ‘No!’ ‘Please!’ and ‘Stop!’. Saihara threw a deeply concerned glance to Momota, sitting up beside Ouma. The screams descended into pitiful and loud sobbing, harsh gasps of air between them. 

“Ouma?” Momota gently spoke, sitting and placing an arm around Ouma’s shoulders, hoping to be comforting. 

“It hurt,” he sobbed miserably, “it hurt so much.” 

“I know,” Momota pulled Ouma closer to his body, recalling once more those shrieks as the press closed tight around him. Saihara just watched them, feeling left out of something strangely intimate that they shared, but it was easy to fill in the blanks. He offered comfort of his own, rubbing small circles into Ouma’s bony back. They stayed quiet, letting him cry out the emotions he’d been bottling since waking from that VR world, eventually falling back to sleep in Momota’s embrace. He and Saihara worked to gently lay him back down without waking him and fell back to sleep themselves, though neither would feel rested by morning. 

Saihara had been the first to wake as the sunlight broke through his curtains, illuminating the room. He gave a small groan and turned to his side, not done with sleep quite yet, not clicking that his outstretched arm fell on empty space beside him. 

When he woke again he met Momota’s tired eyes, both noticing that there was nothing between within moments. Ouma was gone. Saihara clambered out of bed, the covers having already been thrown off of Momota’s sleeping body earlier and searched the whole house for any sign of him, but there was nothing. 

“Man, he bailed on us, and I thought we were actually getting somewhere after last night,” Momota grunted, still trying to wake himself up. 

“When did he leave? Did he go home?” Momota gave a shrug in response. Saihara pulled out his phone and sent Ouma a quick text, “Hey, you left already? Are you okay?” 

 

After an hour there had been no response from Saihara’s text and worry set in. Having seen Ouma so distraught in the night filled them both with concern over where he could be and what he could be doing. Momota led the way to Ouma’s home, through the battered halls and smoky air until they reached his unremarkable door. Another round of thunderous knocking against the thin wood of the door. 

“Hey Ouma!” he gruffly called between knocks when no answer had come. The knocks and calls become more and more frequent and erratic as they continued to only be greeted with silence. Eventually though they could hear shuffling movement from within, the door slowly unlocking and opening. Ouma looked up at them both wordlessly, eyes red and drooping with lack of sleep and sorrow. He moved back a step, dragging his feet against the beat-up carpet, a silent invitation for the boys to come in. Momota moved faster than Saihara, bypassing Ouma completely and moving deeper into the house. 

“Ouma-kun, are you alright? I sent a message earlier,” Saihara moved into the house, closing the door behind him quietly. The only response was a silent shake of the head. 

“Ouma,” Momota called, walking from another room in the apartment back to the hall they stood in, his voice was low, like a growl, “did you take anything?” 

“No,” Ouma’s eyes stayed downcast, even as Momota closed the gap between them and planted both strong hands on Ouma’s narrow shoulders. 

“Why are there pills scattered all over the bathroom? What the hell were you trying to do?” he shouted at the smaller boy’s face, giving him a hard, angry shake. Saihara’s eyes sparked with the understanding of Momota’s words, mouth hung open in disbelief as he watched the two. 

“Did you,” he trailed off, mouth dry and unable to quite say the words. 

“Were you trying to kill yourself?” Momota interjected, narrow eyes burning and teeth bared down at him. Finally, Ouma lifted his head, letting his watery eyes rest on Momota’s face. 

“I couldn’t do it,” he whispered, “DICE wouldn’t have forgiven me if I’d done something like that.” 

“DICE...DICE aren’t real Ouma-kun,” Saihara carefully spoke, earning a for once genuine wail from the shorter boy. His legs shook violently and as Saihara moved ready to catch Ouma as they gave in. 

“I know!” he yelled, a raw shout from the back of his throat, “But without them I... but without them I,” he repeated the phrase, unable to form any further thoughts, words giving way to painful sobs and shouts and screams. Saihara bit his teeth together, pain welling in his chest at his inability to do anything, even something as basic as understand. Momota seemed to share the sentiment, outstretched arms quivering and hardened face softening at the display of complete despair. 

Momota did the only thing he could think to do, pull Ouma into a tight embrace, pushing the smaller boy’s face to his warm chest and hold him tight against his heartbeat, burying his own face into the top of Ouma’s dark hair. The broken sounds coming from him were at least more muted now by Momota’s broad chest, Saihara took a step backwards, pressing his back against a rough wall, holding a hand to his paled face. What could they do? It felt hopeless. Glancing back through the house he could see into the bathroom door, bottles and packets scattered across the floor. 

Momota sank down to his knees, letting Ouma completely collapse against his muscular body, arms remaining locked tight against his back. The noises had quietened until all that remained was hard breathing and violent shaking. 

“I’m sorry,” Momota whispered against his head, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Without DICE,” his tried to continue his thought from earlier, his hoarse voice weak against Momota’s body, “without DICE there’s nothing. They were the only thing I’d ever had and, and they never even existed!” He tensed against Momota, eyes squeezed shut tight. 

 

He had been scouring through his memories of before the game when he’d realized there was nothing good, the memory that he’d only joined Danganronpa to die, he had wanted to kill and be executed so he could have inflicted suffering on someone else for a change, and then be killed in excruciating agony because he felt that he truly deserved an end like that for being such a detestable person. Instead he’d suffered in the game and hadn’t even been able to die properly! 

Now he was expected to live with the suffering from before the game, the suffering from the game, and even the incredible pain of his own death with the knowledge that the only thing he had to live for was never even real. He’d tried to keep up his persona from the game, pretend that he hadn’t died, live in an imaginary world where everyone was alive and he was still Kokichi Ouma – Ultimate Supreme Leader where he saw DICE every day and they were always happy to see him. The only people that would always be smiling and always care. The only people he held dear and held him dear in return. But even that happy dream had been torn away from him by nightmares and flashbacks, even stupid things like putting on a pair of shoes that were slightly too tight immediately gave him visions of the press crushing the bones of his toes into the rest of his foot. He’d been so jumpy even in his own home with only his own company. It was impossible, how could anyone live this way? 

“That’s not true,” Saihara’s voice spoke from behind him, arms gently ghosting around his middle from behind. “Try not to focus on the things that came before, or the things that you had during the simulation,” he continued, breath brushing against Ouma’s ear and messy hair. “Focus on the things you have now.” 

Ouma tried to relax his eyes, not scrunch them shut but just keep them gently closed. ‘Focus on what you have now’, the words resounded in his head. He’d already expressed that he had nothing, but did that include now? Right now, where he was surrounded by the warmth and concern of these two boys that had rushed out and to his door when he hadn’t replied to their message. The way Momota had held him tight and yelled meant the he must have cared but taking some sort of action is expected after finding out someone considered suicide. But he had run straight in, pushing Ouma aside to inspect the house, he must have been expecting to find something. The two had calmed him in the night as well, hadn’t been annoyed at him having woken them up and hadn’t mocked him for crying so pathetically. They’d held him and spoke gentle kind words, wanting to stop those tears. 

“Instead of believing you have nothing, and living for the memory of DICE,” Momota raised his face from Ouma’s hair to speak, “know that you have us, and live for us if nothing else.” 

The Ouma from the game would have probably laughed at him, calling that a pathetic excuse for a pep talk and have acted as though he felt absolutely nothing from the ‘idiotic’ sentiment, but the Ouma of right now was a different Ouma. 

This Momota was different from that Momota, that Momota probably wouldn’t have had time for a troublemaking brat like him and wouldn’t have chased him to find out what was bugging him if he resisted enough. 

Even this Saihara was different, the Saihara from before would have stayed out of this moment, maybe even leaving the scene entirely, feeling as though this was only something for Ouma and Momota to work out. Now he was confident, holding Ouma just like Momota was and saying what he thought without being afraid of mockery or rejection. 

As for this Ouma, those sappy dumb words meant more than the world to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, I certainly enjoyed writing this one especially. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments so that I can improve! Writing criticisms welcome!


End file.
